What Do YOU Want as a Reward for Saving the World?
by The Winged Lion of Coruscant
Summary: The Doctor and the Master undergo a unique, novel experience on a far-off planet when they don't managed to hightail it out of there quite fast enough ... Master/Doctor, slightly cracky fluff.


Rewards

Two Time Lords walk into a TARDIS. (No punch line necessary, because there are too many to count and they happen much too often.)

There is a Doctor and a Master. They live together inside the TARDIS (together in _every sense of the word_), for several reasons. One is because there is no one else left in the universe who could supply the company each of them yearns for. The Doctor can't forget this, but the Master knows there is more to it. Another reason, for instance, is the fact that no one can make the Doctor _feel_ the way the Master can – and vice versa. And no one else would possibly put up with either of them if they knew _everything_ about them. They are unique and alone and together in the universe.

(And they are both are _happy_, happier than they've been in a long time.)

The Doctor saves things. The Master sometimes comes along for the ride. Occasionally, it is dangerous, and occasionally it is interesting, and occasionally it is downright ridiculous.

This is one of those times.

They have just saved a planet – or, rather, the Doctor has just saved a planet from the complete destruction of all life forms upon it via biological warfare while the Master stood by and snarked and (once or twice, though neither of them talk much about it) saved the Doctor's bacon.

And now they are being congratulated. It usually doesn't happen this way – usually they are on the run from the police by the time they're done, or they duck out and get away quickly before anything of the sort can happen – but today …

The Master is snickering. The Doctor is babbling. The alien prime minister is insisting that they name a reward.

"You could ask for global domination," the Master suggests, once they are left alone in the conference room to "decide upon a suitable gift".

"Hah! That's you, not me. Never been big on the whole 'take over the planet thing'," the Doctor replies immediately.

"It's just one planet. And they're offering it to you, really," the Master counters calmly.

The Doctor's hands automatically reach for his hair and begin to twist at it until it really resembles nothing so much as a porcupine. A mutant porcupine. He is ignoring the Master. "I can't say anything too small, or they'll feel insulted – but I don't want to bankrupt them or make any lasting mark on history – and it isn't like I want anything from them, either –"

"Stop tearing out your hair," the Master interrupts him, rather irritably. He _likes_ that hair. It's much better than some of the Doctor's hair in the past – the fourth was rather nice, and the eighth had _divine_ hair, but the seventh and the first and the sixth were just … no. Besides. This hair is particularly fun to mess with and run his hands through and – really, he needs to think about what's going on right now. He can play with his Doctor's hair later. "You'll go bald early."

The Doctor is staring at him, his face going through that incredibly expressive set of appearances he often has when he is formulating a plan. "That's it! Oh, you're brilliant, Master, you really _are_ –"

The Master allows himself a small smile. He knows he's brilliant, but it's nice to hear someone who can actually appreciate it tell him so. Granted, he doesn't know exactly what he's done that's particularly brilliant right now (other than generally existing), but still …

"How so?" he asks, after a suitable pause.

The Doctor explains. The Master raises an eyebrow – and then considers what the look on the alien prime minister's face is going to be like and quashes all the objections he might have had. Oh, this is going to be _fun_.

He is entirely right; the faces the prime minister pulls when he hears the Doctor's request are _amazing_. His species isn't even humanoid, making him look even more bizarre and impressive – a human's mouth can't contort that way, and the mobility of his nose is quite astounding.

Still, it isn't every day that the savior of a planet asks for a year's supply of hair supplies.

When they leave Aljras IV an hour later, the Doctor is looking distinctly pleased with himself and the TARDIS smells of scented hair products and the Master can't stop laughing – well, snickering evilly – every time he allows himself to think about what has just happened.

Just another day in the life of the last two Time Lords in the universe.


End file.
